The Obsidian Sentinel
by Celtsarr Vicciniac
Summary: Long ago, man beheld power unlike any other ever seen before or since. The gods grew fearful of the mortal's actions. They were not ready for such power yet. Thus, the gods chose a champion: The Obsidian Sentinel. He was their hunter, their executioner. He was the one who would save humanity from itself. But humanity did not wish to be saved and locked him away. Or so they thought
1. Chapter 1

**So some of you reading this may have already read On Black Wings. This is completely irrelevant but I was looking into some character builds and found one that really interested me. This is the result: the Obsidian Sentinel. As of now, its simply a one shot to see how people react. If enough people are interested, I'll post some more chapters. Enjoy!**

**Ch. 1: Awakening**

In the cold reaches of northern Skyrim, inside of the frozen fortress, behind the icy walls of stone and steel, a lone crypt stands by itself. It is separate from the others yet just as undecorated. One would never recognize it from the others, save for the fact that it _was _separate. That and it was encased in ice.

The ice covered the makeshift tomb from head to foot, trapping whatever was inside within its frosty clutches. Little of what was inside could be seen except for the obsidian faceplate. The thin slit of an eyehole was void of any light of life within. For all intents and purposes, the block of ice contained no sign of life.

But somewhere else in Skyrim, where the snow sat thick as troll fur, an object of enormous, magical magnitude was being defiled by those with heinous intentions. A sudden surge of raw magicka blasted from the abused object and rippled across all of Tamriel. As the ripple passed over the frozen fortress, the void tomb suddenly sparked. The slit in the faceplate suddenly became luminous with an azure light.

As suddenly as the light flashed into existence, the ice around the faceplate shattered into thousands of tiny pieces. A tall figure was revealed covered from head to toe in ebony armor. At his side, an ebony longsword rested while across his back, an obsidian shield lay. As the figure rolled its neck from side to side, the various crypts also held movement. The ebony clad one drew its sword while dozens of other figures shambled out of the shadows of the Nordic burial ground.

A flash of powerful fire blasted from one of the hand of one of the figures, a Draugr as they are called. The fireball slammed into the ebony steel as a strange blue light enveloped it. Once the small explosion faded, the steel was revealed to be unharmed in the slightest. The ebony warrior lashed his own hand out at the Draugr, sending a fireball of the same intensity blasting out. The Draugr didn't fair nearly as well as the ebony warrior and was subsequently vaporized by the blast.

A flash of steel and two Draugr, who had been rushing the ebony titan, fell headless. Sparks flew as an ancient greatsword bounced off the ebony longsword before a second fireball slammed into the back of the ebony warrior. As it sliced his opponent's gut open, he threw a second fireball behind him, this one matching the offending spell as well.

The Draugr may have been dead but at one point they were alive. They had actually managed to retain much of their senses even in death. These in particular had been chosen specifically to guard the ebony titan and realized quickly that magic was ineffective against him. His powerful and unnatural ability to absorb magic made him a terror for mages. They moved in with sword and axe to overpower him.

The ebony warrior ducked as a dilapidated axe spilt the air over his helm. He was forced to roll out of the way as a greatsword slashed downward, rending the axe wielding Draugr in half. He spun as he rose and took the legs from another before slicing its chest open.

He fell one more of the undead before grabbing one of their throats in his midnight grasp. The blue light surrounded them both as he drained the magical essence from it, fending off its brethren with his sword until the walking corpse was sucked dry. He threw the body but not before sending powerful lightning coursing through its dried up veins. The result was that when the corpse hit another, it sent powerful lightning scattering around the room and forcing the life from the reanimated bodies.

The ebony warrior stood over his remaining foes, weakened from his first spell. As a vampire would do, he grabbed their throats and drained their magicka from them, one by one, until all of his foes were unmoving once more. He turned his attention then to where the original blast of magicka had come from. He used his stolen magic to blast the wall apart before w3alking out into the cold snow of northern Skyrim. The hunt had just begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hello again. This story got some very positive feedback so here's the next chapter! The actual story element to this hasn't kicked off yet but it will next chapter, if there's a next chapter. Now, to answer what was really the only question. No, the Sentinel build on the Skyrim blogs doesn't have a predetermined race. However, for this story, I will be giving him a definite race to further the story.**

**Ch. 2: The Hunt Begins**

The Sentinel stepped into the cold, its black as night armor barely feeling the heat. It cast its empty gaze to the heavens, admiring the florescent light show with his animated soul. What was left of his mind remembered back to a time before all of this. Before he had been made a puppet of the Aedra, they're loyal hound to protect humanity from itself. Before the bloodshed. Before, when he was but a man.

But now he was nothing but a husk, a shadow of his former self made into a mockery of life. He knew nothing now but his purpose. But somewhere deep inside of him, the man that he had once been still lived. All life was subject to the will of gods in the end. That man was long gone now; in his place was the perfect killing machine. No remorse, no hesitation, no pain, no _feelings._

The Sentinel strode on through the winter, doing his best to bury his memories. They would always haunt him but that life ended eras ago. The Aedra had heard his cries, his pleas, for the power to avenge his daughter, to save her from the necromancers that razed their village. Oh yes, they had heard and gave him that power. But it cost him his life, his soul, and his eternity. Until such a time when the races would be ready to wield the great gifts of Akatosh and the other Aedra, he would always be cursed to stop them, to save them from that which they were not ready for.

The Sentinel noticed a movement from ahead of him. A flash of lightning streaked across his vision, plowing through the snow to his left. A flash of purple light showcased the usage of necromancy. The Sentinel drew his blade in one swift motion, his armor clanking as he sprinted to the battle. All necromancers must die for their blasphemy.

The battle turned out to be a Breton mage and a Khajit sellsword fighting a group of ten necromancers, their dark robes gave them away. Two dark mages had already been defeated as had a Redguard warrior, who had also had the honor of reanimation. The Sentinel barely paused to observe before he sunk his ebony blade into the side of a necromancer, the weapon's frozen touch chilling the wound as his hand leeched the mage's magicka from his mouth.

The first blasphemer had fallen with nary a cry but the second would not be so fortunate. The Sentinel used the stolen magicka to levitate his next victim off of the ground, raising a startled cry. As all of the combatants turned to face him, he closed his fist as it pulsed with a dark red energy. The reaction was the necromancer being torn to shreds by powerful destruction magic, blood and gore showering the witnesses.

The Sentinel took two giant leaps towards his next victim before there was even a reaction and tackled her to the ground. His hand found her throat and he drained her dry within moments. At last, resistance was sent his way in the form of a half dozen ice spears seeking to impale him, all of which were assimilated by his protective wards. The necromancers watched on in horror as the blue lights swirled around their spells, draining the magicka that gave them life and bolstering the strength of their obsidian foe.

He stood as the mages, realizing their magic was probably doomed to failure, summoned a plethora of bound weapons. The first to reach him was blasted aside by a last minute ward before the blade slipped across his guts. The second fared little better, his large battleaxe was nimbly sidestepped by the obsidian terror and used as a launching pad to propel said terror towards the next. A spear of ice lodged in the battleaxe wielding necromancer's throat as the Sentinel crushed the other underneath his weight. From their physical contact, a large amount of the mage's magicka was drained in the few seconds before he died.

The Sentinel crouched over his latest victim as his draining power sucked the life from her bones. The necromancers were wary of him now, their earlier prey having already scuttled off. Four mystic blades surrounded him with four deadly mages wielding them. The Sentinel's eye slit glowed an even brighter blue, a very haunting expression on his otherwise blank visage. The mage's roared battlecries as they foolishly charged into, their blades poised to end this nightmare. They never expected for the Sentinel to use their stolen magic to cloak himself in his own personal blizzard. They fell within seconds of realizing their mistake.

The ebony clad titan stood in the middle of his snow storm, his hands stretched out to either side. Faint blue lights cascaded all throughout his spell, signaling that he was manipulating the magic to drain the magicka of the dying mages. As the white snow whipped around his obsidian body, his eye slit glowed an even brighter blue once more. And as the storm died, it flashed red for the briefest moment.


End file.
